


The Pointless, yet Poignant, Story of What Was

by hauntedd



Category: Bad Blood - Taylor Swift (Music Video)
Genre: Dystopia, F/F, Misses Clause Challenge, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-06 20:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5430107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedd/pseuds/hauntedd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a question of what comes first, the organization that raised her, or the girl who caused her to forget it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pointless, yet Poignant, Story of What Was

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kleenexwoman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kleenexwoman/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, I hope you enjoy!

Arsyn meets her during the spring of her final year. Technically, she’s on leave, along with the rest of her cadre, although it’s not termed that. Instead, they call it a rumspringa, and it’s meant to ensure complete loyalty. As if the Organization had to do something so meaningless when they’re raised from birth and selected to serve the Organization because of their abject loyalty.

Because of this, no one mentions rumspringa or where they go on their time away. That is the Trainers’ job. And no one dares defy protocol, which only increases its allure. 

Operation Rumspringa, their last operations as students, is also the Academy’s best-kept secret. It’s whispered about in passing between teachers, but no one knows what it truly means. It’s an old word from an old world far removed from this one, when there wasn’t constant war between corporations and the organizations hired to defend them. They say there had been countries then, entire nations where leaders were elected, not by profit margins, but by the people. 

What a stupid concept. Why vote and deliberate under the auspices of representative democracy when capitalism is the purest form of governance? Survival of the fittest, destruction of the weakest, with all people contributing toward the bottom line. Even the fencers, with their fields and mines, function as a cog in the Organization’s machine.

But participation in _rumspringa_ is mandatory. It’s not a mission, Arsyn learns, but a final decision. Six months beyond the fence, without weapons or training; instead she and the rest of her cadre are to live as fencers, working in fields and selling trinkets in market places, as if they had never entered the Academy in the first place. After those six months, everyone has a choice – remain among the fencers nameless and forgotten, or accept a life of honor defending proud institutions. They claim it’s to understand their sacrifice, and make the choice to become a true member of the Organization with a clear head. 

Arsyn finds it useless. She’s ready to sign up now; she’s top of her class at the academy, after all. But if they say it’s mandatory, she resigns herself to attacking this _rumspringa_ with as much enthusiasm as the things that actually matter, like corporate espionage, parkour, swordplay, and pyrotechnics. 

She is assigned the role of a migrant, meant to till the lands and harvest crops for the merchants to sell. Arsyn hates it at first, the manual labor and monotony of it all. She wakes up every morning and dons a drab dress and acts as if she’s no one. Just a body hidden in the gardens that grow on the outskirts of what once had been London. After time her body falls into a routine, this one no better or worse than the one she'd had at the academy, merely different.

It’s the sixth day of the sixth week when she meets her. Blonde hair and a mess of limbs, running through the town as if she hasn’t a care in the world. She probably doesn’t. She’s a permanent fixture, while Arsyn is a temporary guest in a life that doesn’t fit. They weren’t even supposed to meet. She lives on the other side of town, and it’s unheard of for the merchants and the migrant farmers to interact outside of commerce.

Arsyn tries to abide by the rules and strict protocols of the district, her years of structured training and specific timelines leading above all others. The blonde cares little for them, and Arsyn finally gives in, unable to deny the pull of this girl any longer.

The blonde kisses hotter than a flame, cuts her deeper than the sharpest sword and makes her heart leap higher than the highest wall. Arsyn can lose herself here, with this girl who knows nothing of the world beyond the fence. A merchant’s daughter, her skin is unmarred by the training lesser classes are forced into. Out here, daughters don’t have names other than their mother’s, and impermanent solution to a future matter. Their true names are for their husbands to decide.

Arsyn has a name because she is military property. They’ve named her, and in rebirth she’s become every bit as lethal as the casualty they’ve chosen for her. If she lives here beyond the fence, she’ll lose her name, her whole identity, before being assigned a mate of her own.

There’s no place for love here. It’s merely a transaction, women wholly owned by men, much like smaller corporations are taken over by larger ones. So this, they, must remain a secret.

Arsyn calls her Catastrophe, because that’s what she is, really. Her greatest failing, one that will bring them both to ruin, she knows, especially after Arsyn confesses that she’s no migrant at all. But it’s easy enough to ignore when they’re together. Catastrophe tastes like sunshine on a cool morning and for the first time Arsyn thinks of making a run for it. There’s a world beyond the migrants, through the trees, or so some of the farmers say, a tribe of runners who somehow make it out and survive.

She won’t, though. Arsyn is double-marked, and runners don’t last the night.

***

They find out in the fall when she fails to report for a shift change, too busy shifting between Catastrophe’s thighs to keep track of time. Her superior is slightly impressed that she’s kept it from them for so long. No one keeps secrets from the Organization. Arsyn considers arguing, claiming that her deception is worth a bit of leniency, a life outside of these walls. In the end she does nothing but what is asked of her. 

Fencers can’t ever know what goes on within its walls. Catastrophe is a risk, one that can only be addressed by bringing her into this life. Arsyn knows better than to plead for leniency, promise that she can continue in ignorance.

The fence looms large ahead, but she slips through like she’s done a thousand times. Only this time, it’s not a welcome distraction from flame throwers and automatic rifles. She’s not heading beyond to the place, _to the girl_ , that makes her feel alive. Instead, it feels like a funeral march. But Catastrophe loves her family more than anything, and Arsyn knows that she’d never forgive her for allowing them to come to harm, even if Arsyn can never forgive herself.

So Arsyn drags her through the fence like it’s some big surprise. And maybe to her it is, even if she knows better. Her Commanding Officer meets them both with a wolfish grin, as if they’ve been planning this all along. She regrets everything and considers running again. They might have a chance.

That’s a lie. They have no chance. Not even here, as sisters in arms. Fraternization is strictly prohibited. The Organization above all else, with its strategic decisions and improvement of the bottom line, whatever that even means.

***

She gets word the moment Catastrophe graduates from training. It’s her name in truth, now, and Arsyn knows it was done to mock her for her momentary weakness. 

They dangle her like a carrot just outside of reach, and neither speaks of what’s happened between them. She wants desperately to develop a code that they can share, love woven between battle lines, a salve to the scars that have sprung up between them. She doesn’t, and they fall into a silent rhythm. Attack here, cover there. They shift against currents, and while they crash against the shore from time to time, they never fully collide into one another.

She wants to reach out, to break through these walls that the Organization has forced them to erect. Remind herself and Catastrophe of the time, before, when they’d kiss behind wood sheds, two little girls playing with fire.

There are hundreds of times where Arsyn tries, reaching out and almost touching her shoulder, almost opening her mouth and explaining all that’s happened. But she doesn’t. It’s different now, they’re different now, and Catastrophe is no longer the bit of light in an endless night, she’s something else entirely.

So when they hand her the compact and tell her her orders, Arsyn accepts them without question. It doesn’t matter that her stomach is eating itself from the inside, that her heart is pleading with her to find another way. These are _commands_ and she will follow them.

They move in sync, taking down one body after another, all male and nondescript, cutting through aisles and cubicles like sharks advancing on their prey. The briefcase lies just behind her reach, and when Catastrophe grabs it, Arsyn’s stomach drops.

She will have to go through with it after all. 

Her feet move with militaristic precision and before her heart can catch up with her head, she’s blown the powder and thrown Catastrophe through the window. And her soul along with it. 

But Arsyn doesn’t wait around to see if she’s still breathing. It doesn’t matter, the task is complete and the asset is secured. While she may have had a chance, 'almost' is a worthless word in a world where accuracy is what keeps you on the right side of the thin line between life and death.

***

Arsyn returns to headquarters, briefcase in hand, and is met by their— _her_ — superiors. She’s alone again, unpaired, and fully tied to the Organization that molded her in their image. Arsyn tells herself she doesn’t regret anything, because there’s nothing wrong with following protocol, and yet a part of her simply cannot believe the lie.

She did this. And Catastrophe is dead because of it.

Her skin crawls as they look her over, cuts fresh and bruises starting to form. She’s never felt dirtier than this moment, but she quashes that emotion as best as she can.

She was just following orders.

They appraise her in silence, sifting through documents and making notes on screens. It stretches beneath the clacking of keyboards, staccato beats—slow, then fast, then slow again, and Arsyn has never felt more unsure than she does in these moments.

She had killed for them, and yet. And _yet_.

Her mind shifts to shattered glass and that moment when—it doesn’t matter. Orders are orders, the bottom line above all else.

A chair screeches across the floor, drawing Arsyn back into the present. The typing has paused and the three members of middle management assigned to this task stare at her as if she’s expected to say something. As if there is anything to say, except all those things that she cannot.

She opens her mouth and shuts it, not sure of what the protocol is here. It’s her first kill order, and she was successful, but Arsyn feels no joy in it. She’s supposed to and in a life before Catastrophe she’d have gloated and carried her success like the accomplishment that it is meant to be.

One of the Managers frowns and presses a button. The other two nod their heads in agreement to a discussion that Arsyn hadn’t been party to and before she can think to question what is going on, four Processing Technicians move in concert toward her, grabbing limbs and securing her to a table.

“What are you doing? I did what you wanted!” She screams, fighting with everything she has to break free, but nothing works. The Processing Technicians have perfected securing assets over the years, and she’s just one of many. Arsyn knows this, but she struggles anyway.

The bindings latch and hold her wrists and ankles into place. For the first time in her life she knows she is truly trapped and it fills her with a certain level of dread. But it’s the lack of Managers that worries her most of all. They must have slipped from the room during her struggle. They knew that this was coming, they ordered it.

When she’s secure, the head Processing Technician stares at her, before reading from a tablet, as per protocol. “You are to be transported to the Trinity.”

Arsyn scowls. That makes no sense—the Trinity is a myth. Something made up by their rivals, the Corporation and its leader, Lucky Fiori, to keep the Organization away. 

“The Trinity? But it’s not real,” Arsyn replies, trying to ignore the way that her heart is beating in her ear. If she’d been asked a day ago, back when betraying Catastrophe had been an Outstanding Order and not yet a Completion, she wouldn’t have believed any of this were possible. At least not to her.

She’d done everything right, completed her assignment and betrayed her partner in the process.

The Processing Tech looks disappointed at the question, which only confuses her further. He sighs, folding his arms against his chest. “I expected you to understand, considering all you’ve accomplished.”

“Accomplished? I’m strapped to a table!”

The other Technicians look at each other with nervous glances. The Lead Technician is violating protocol, but as subordinates, they don’t say anything. The Lead notices anyway. “It won’t matter anyway, once she’s processed.”

Processed. The word causes her mouth to dry as she realizes what’s about to happen to her. And if the Trinity is real, then, not only are the Organization and the Corporation working together, but everything that she’s fought for is a lie somehow. She doesn’t ask the question, it’s too risky, especially when Processed could mean anything from a reprimand to certain death.

“You see, Arsyn, you’ve done something no one else has been able to do.”

These are the words she’d have valued _before_ when she’d been in the Academy and it was important to stand out and be recognized. But as a member of the Organization, Arsyn knows that these are not compliments, but threats. That she is strapped down is only further proof of that.

“I only did what the Organization asked,” Arsyn whispers, tears tracking down her cheeks. She’s going to die, she knows it, and maybe that’s what she deserves. “I… I killed her.”

The Lead Processor leans over her, touching a weathered hand to her hair with reverence in his eyes. She shifts as best she can away from him, but he yanks on her hair and pulls her closer, until their noses are mere inches from one another. 

She tenses and he smiles, wiping the tears from her eyes as he starts to laugh, loud and manic as the other two Technicians shift together and whisper to one another, far too softly for Arsyn to hear. His hands are gone from her body, thrown up in the air as if this is all some sort of joke.

“This isn’t about that girl of yours,” he shouts and the two other Technicians inch closer to the back wall, as if his reaction—his madness—is contagious. “She was a pretty thing, though. No, this isn’t about her or your ill-advised relationship. What you’ve done is far more dangerous.”

“What did I do? I’ll stop, just tell me,” Arsyn begs as he pulls a syringe from his coat, waving it around.

“You can’t stop it. It’s what you are. You’re resistant. Have been ever since you buried your little mouth in that blonde of yours.” 

She refuses to take the bait. Mentioning Catastrophe as if what had happened was the cause of this—that she’d chosen her heart over her head. Arsyn hadn’t done that. She’s not resistant—she’d been the star of the Academy. 

“Resistant? Resistant to what?”

“The Organization,” he states as if it’s a foregone conclusion. It’s not—Catastrophe had happened during her time away, when the rules weren’t supposed to apply. And yet it’d still been all that mattered in the end.

“What? That’s impossible,” Arsyn says, mulling the accusation around as she does. The realization cuts through her—rumspringa hadn’t been real. It’d been a test, the most important test, and she’d failed. First by getting attached, and then by bringing her to the Organization in the first place. By confirming her existence, it had proven her split loyalty.

Shit.

He clucks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, brandishing the syringe in her eye line. He wants her to see it, to know how powerless she is to stop what’s coming. It’s only her stubborn and selfish desire for survival that’s pushing her onward. “Impossibility is a useless word. Any outcome is possible, unless you plan against it. Lucky for you, we have years of experience dealing with your kind. The Trinity will get your head on straight.”

“How? The Trinity is part of the Corporation, and not—“

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he hisses, mere inches from her ear. “The Corporation and the Organization are all small parts in a very large machine. It’s just easier to control when there’s… healthy competition between our divisions.”

Arsyn furrows her brow as she tries to make sense of the information. Why would they keep everyone fighting? War is what they’re supposed to prevent—the Organization above all else. It makes no sense, and he’s staring at her, waiting for a revelation that won’t come while the two other tech continue to titter in the background.

He sighs and grabs her wrist, angrily jamming the needle into her vein. She wants to ask questions, but they fade away as the darkness takes hold, as if they were never there at all.

*** 

When she wakes, there’s an Order for her to report to her Unit for her assignment. The Corporation has begun to move on the offensive, but she’s been kept out of the fray so far. The Organization claims that she’s been missing time—and she has—but Arsyn is meant to fight. She’s one of the Organization’s best soldiers. 

Hell, she’d survived captivity by the Corporation with only some bruises and memory loss to speak of—something that no one else within the Organization can claim. She’s been ready for months now, and her body hums with excitement as she laces up her armor and straps her guns into their holsters. 

The others trade stories of the Corporation’s new golden girl. There are rumors that Welvin Da Great and Lucky have raised her through their ranks themselves, but they’re bullshit. The Corporation never puts that much effort into any one recruit. Calamity or Catastrophe or what the fuck ever is going to burn out like all the rest, and it will be another hostile takeover for the Organization. Arsyn doesn’t pay attention to the names of her targets, she just finds them and destroys them.

Finally, the helicopter sets down at their destination and she orders her troops to put on their masks and head out for war. It’s time to take down this Catastrophe bitch once and for all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my betas for everything. Love you.


End file.
